


Meet Me by the River

by c0rnfl0wer



Series: Victory of the Night [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, M/M, Porn With Plot, Russian Mythology, Slavic mythology, ie the russian myth au that this fandom really should have
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-12 18:18:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10496793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/c0rnfl0wer/pseuds/c0rnfl0wer
Summary: Every Kupala Night has come and gone without his attending, but now that Viktor Nikiforov is getting older and taking over the position as leader of his village, he has to start taking his life in a different direction. He wasn't sure whether he expected anything at all in this way. But when Yuuri catches his wreath, he finds the path he had always longed for.Historical/Mythology AU based on Slavic mythology and traditions, specifically Kupala Night - a midsummer celebration involving merrymaking in a few different ways.





	

_Meet me by the river  
Where the tides ebb and flow  
I’ve been waiting for you all summer,  
For the warmth and flowers to grow._

* * *

 

The tide met his ankles and scattered water across his calves when he waded into the river. Phichit forcibly pulled him further with a hand clasped around his forearm. Yuuri followed obediently, as he did everywhere, even though this water was unfamiliar to him, it’s people only distantly remembered from previous visits.

For the first year he was brought somewhere different for Kupala Night, both anxiety and relief challenging his presence.

Anxiety because he knew no one here.

Relief for the same reason.

If he embarrassed himself, what consequences could there be when his name and face was unknown here?

Phichit struck up conversations with the others easily, introducing himself and Yuuri even though he remained silent. It was too early to spring for the wreaths yet, but they would come soon enough; and so they waited.

Yuuri half-listened to Phichit’s conversations, uninterested for the most part. Different village, different people, same banter.

“You know who I heard was coming today?” someone asked loudly, only satisfied when they had gathered a good deal of attention.

It somewhat spiked Yuuri’s interest. Who could be so popular as to get this sort of announcement?

“Viktor Yakovlev!”

Yuuri’s head shot up.

This was a name he knew. Very well, in fact.

“No way. He never comes!” someone else called.

“No, it’s true,” the announcer retorted immediately. “Christophe told me. I guess he’s having a change of heart.”

“After this many years? What changed?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because old Yakov is finally stepping down. I guess this is one way to go about his new role.”

“Wonder who’s gonna catch his wreath.”

The tone was more somber than curious. The matter was dropped quickly.

When the light blue wreath was finally carried along the currents, long after Phichit had gone and the crowd had thinned out tremendously, Yuuri couldn’t believe he was the first to reach for it.

 

* * *

 

 

Viktor had been waiting for this: his first Kupala Night.  
  
He unabashedly admitted that he loved these sort of holidays. The excitement and sense of community and opportunity to just _let go_ while fulfilling a responsibility hyped him up every time. For every celebration and gathering and competition. He was always there at the forefront, leading the way.  
  
Perhaps it helped that his father, Yakov, was the leader of their village.  
  
He always had the advantage, a charming personality and unbeatable skills and his father’s leniency made him a popular presence. He was beloved. A natural leader complemented by his working for his reputation. He was everything for his community, for these holidays, and for a long time that had been enough.  
  
His solitary and changing and bustling life had been enough.  
  
The last few Kupala Nights had missed his presence, his opting out in favor of other responsibilities ever since he had become old enough to participate.  
  
“I just have so much more to do,” had been his constant excuse. “I want to be able to take over my father’s title before I take on more. I want to be the best leader first.”  
  
Most shrugged it off, believing it to be a wise move for the next community leader. It benefited them in the long run and he was willing to do it; who cares?  
  
Years passed.  
  
He never attended.  
  
People in his village began to talk.  
  
“You’re going to wait too long and then no one will want you. You’re almost an old man now, Vitya,” Christophe teased him the moment after Viktor turned twenty-five.  
  
And compared to the rest in his generation, it was blaringly true.  
  
Most of his friends were struggling through marriages, having children. Even Christophe offered little comfort; a foreigner, he had moved into the village years before with a husband already on his arm.  
  
Still, Viktor waited.  
  
During the spring equinox after Viktor had turned twenty-seven, Yakov approached him. For the most part he had let Viktor choose his own life path, whether it was from paternal love or the resigned knowledge that his words would go unheeded was difficult to say. Viktor had gotten this far on his own, and if he was ignored this time there might not be consequence, but he had to try anyway. Had to impart some of his sensibility.  
  
“I’m turning over my leadership to you on the summer solstice.”  
  
It was a rough opening, but it caught Viktor’s attention.  
  
“I’m getting older. I don’t want to deal with all the little problems anymore. Having Yura around is enough. And you’re ready, have been for years. It’s time you step up and have a proper position.”  
  
Yakov paused, keenly aware of Viktor’s intense stare.  
  
“Besides, you’ve been doing my job all this time more than I have. I’ve just been here in case you need advice and for all the little stuff around the community. And that’s fine. But I have one more piece of advice to give you before you take my position. You’d better listen, Vitya:  
  
“Leading the ceremonies might be fine now. You’ve proven you can do a lot on your own. But not everything. And I’m not going to be around forever to fix what you’ve missed or don’t have time for.  
  
“I don’t care if it’s just a righthand man or spouse. Look at me and Lilia, separated and still we work together to raise Yura. You can’t do this job alone. You can’t lead a community by yourself. At least not without sacrificing your entire life and health to it, I guess. And I think you know this. Just find someone to rely on, somehow.”  
  
His tone had been exasperated from the start, only shifting to relief when Viktor agreed silently.  
  
Christophe was the one to suggest using Kupala Night as a way to find someone.  
  
This was the only celebration Viktor had never attended before, pushing it away as some world too remote from his more serious life. It was selfish, singular, an event that didn’t require his presence. Everything he knew of it lacked importance for who he was, who he needed to be. He tried year after year to convince himself of this.  
  
But Christophe had a point: for all of his involvement in the community, how many truly knew him? He smiled at the celebrations, charmed everyone he talked to, but who beyond Christophe could really say they knew Viktor? Had witnessed him at his worst and knew how to raise him back up?  
  
If picking someone was going to be left to chance regardless, he might as well go the traditional route.  
  
On the day of the summer solstice Yakov officially turned his title over to Viktor, organizing a celebration with much pomp in addition to the annual festivities already planned for that day. The shift was well-received, Viktor being loved and trusted among his community.  
  
On the evening of the summer solstice, Kupala Night, Viktor followed Christophe and his husband out of the village and to a local stream, much to the surprise of other attendees.  
  
Since when had Viktor ever hinted at his taking a break?  
  
He spent a grand majority of the evening constructing his flower crown and watching others float theirs down the river. The last few hours of sunlight had been spent on his picking blossoms, now in scarce quantity as he had been late to the event. The first few hours of the evening had been spent sitting on the outskirts of the bonfire others had built.  
  
Every once in a while a couple dared to jump the fire, momentarily interrupting his concentration. Many jokes and accompanying laughter and chattering rumors rang into the night around him, a few of which Viktor chimed in on from time to time.  
  
Yet most of his focus had been invested in his wreath. It was an elaborate thing, intricately woven with an assortment of light blue flowers, interspersed with some white only to fill in the gaps. Against the rest of the wreaths it was unmistakably his: a challenge to see who was willing to stand beside him, to bear some of his weight.  
  
“Enough, Vitya. I don’t think your wreath can hold anymore flowers and I’m getting bored.”  
  
Christophe yanked Viktor from where he sat and led them down to the river bank, Christophe’s husband sprinting downstream in the meantime.  
  
They were married; they still did this every year.  
  
As they gave one final glance over their wreaths, a few others released theirs to the river’s current. Their fate was tied into where their wreaths wound up, a premonition some took seriously.  
  
One girl watched her wreath float downstream and far out of sight joyously; she would have a long and happy marriage.  
  
Another wailed as hers tangled with some reeds and sank; despair would come for her soon.  
  
Christophe lit a candle and nestled it in the middle of his red flower crown, eager to track its process. With a guiding nudge he pushed it into the river’s current and cheered as his husband eventually caught it downstream; if they had not already been married, this would have signaled that they would be soon.  
  
“Your turn! Don’t worry if no one catches it; there’s always next year!” Christophe assured him. Viktor would have answered if Christophe had not already abandoned him, racing to reunite with his husband.  
  
When he squinted he could see a few figures waiting some ways away, wading in the river and hoping to catch someone’s wreath. Everyone who attended this event hoped that their flowers would present them with a partner, making this a natural two-way process: someone to release the wreath and someone to try and catch it. With luck they would catch the wreath of someone worthy of their admiration, compatible with them, someone to marry someday.  
  
Standing alone at the river’s edge, this could easily be a nerve-wrecking thought. Would it sink or be caught by an unsuitable partner or reveal his soulmate? He wasn’t sure if he felt anything.  
  
Viktor lit a candle for his wreath then sent it downstream.  
  
And waited.  
  
He watched the little light drift past the reeds - good.  
  
He watched it be carried past where Christophe now stood with his husband - a growing hope.  
  
He watched it meet the cluster of figures waiting for a wreath - more than he had dared wish for.  
  
For all of Viktor’s confidence, self-assuredness, ease, how could he have stood to see it float endlessly onward? Sinking immediately he could cope with; it was an instantaneous though morbid prediction. But to simply see the wreath float onward with no further indication? It was hard to be left without any definitive, to be left to find a partner on his own when his social life had been strangled so by his duties. He was spontaneous by nature, so surely fate would see that in him and spontaneously give him a partner in turn?  
  
The figures hesitated a moment, not wanting to make a mistake in whose wreath they grabbed.  
  
But then it was lifted from the river, water dripping from flower stems.  
  
Viktor’s heart nearly stopped with anticipation; someone had accepted him, at least for one night.  
  
The flame was extinguished as the figure held the flower crown carefully in their hands.  
  
Viktor dared not move, waiting where he stood so that he could be found easily. He paid no mind to the others around him, wearing their flower crowns and laughing. He lost track of Christophe and his husband without a second thought as they disappeared into the woods.  
  
He was waiting.  
  
His gaze was trained solely on the figure. An eon must have passed as they picked their way upstream, trying to match the flower crown with its owner with every group they came upon. Shaking heads and disappointing answers to their questioning. They carried further along.  
  
It was not until they approached where Viktor stood that he moved, closing the space between them with a confident smile.  
  
Even if some nervousness twisted within him, it was shrouded with an easy and familiar charm.  
  
“Looks like you found my wreath,” Viktor stated quietly, reaching for the blue flowers.  
  
The flower was willingly relinquished.  
  
“This- this really is yours?”  
  
A male voice. Gentle, trembling as he spoke. Anxiousness was strewn through it. And yet it was the best voice Viktor had ever heard, soft and musical to him. Enchanting. Though he couldn’t make out the rest of the man’s features.  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“Oh! It’s just- I figured it was. But I wasn’t really sure. And-” he cut himself off, lowering his head.  
  
“Well, you figured right.” Viktor placed his flower crown on the other carefully. “I have no idea what you look like but I’m sure this looks perfect on you.”  
  
“Ha, thank you.” Hesitation, the man peered back up. “So, now what? I’ve never done this.”  
  
Viktor shrugged. “Me neither. But my friend Christophe has told me all about it. We’ll figure it out. But since you seem to know who I am, perhaps we should start with you telling me your name?”  
  
“It’s Yuuri. Just… Yuuri.”  
  
“Perfect! Now, Yuuri, we can try that fire challenge everyone’s doing if you want.”  
  
“Um, what?”  
  
“Here, let me show you.”  
  
Viktor grabbed Yuuri’s hand and led him to the bonfire he had sat by earlier. He scrounged up all he could remember from Christophe’s rants about Kupala Night and turned to Yuuri and-  
  
_Oh_.  
  
If he had thought his heart had stopped before, this was something else. This was his heart stopping and racing all at once, his chest constricting too much for breathing to be a possibility, a light blush spreading across his cheeks.  
  
A man jumped the bonfire alone, which Yuuri watched with an amused smile.  
  
And _oh_. This would be the death of him.  
  
Viktor’s mind froze, not processing anything but the man next to him. He could not tear his eyes away, there being no amount of strength possible for such a feat. How could he spend the rest of the night with Yuuri and still function?  
  
Kupala Night was a chance for youths to spend the whole night merrymaking and falling in love. To make memories to never be forgotten, cherished forever. To even shape their entire lives as they connected with their soulmate. And that had all come to a halt for Viktor, certain that he was too overcome to do much else but stare for eternity.  
  
Because Yuuri was beautiful.  
  
Devastatingly so.  
  
As the firelight flickered across them, Viktor got a far better look at Yuuri than before in the shadows.  
  
Soft black hair tumbled thickly against his shoulders, framing his face. It was attractively messy and some of his locks were partially braided, no doubt someone else’s hurried doing. Viktor’s light flower crown contrasted with his dark hair and pushed some of it down against his forehead. His pink lips formed a bright smile, one that reached dazzling caramel eyes. He was divine, his face as gentle as his voice and words. The brilliant smile only made Viktor’s heart ache more, as if it were contagious, as if it could brush aside any misery that had ever afflicted him.  
  
Yuuri was mesmerizing.  
  
In the way he tilted his head higher as he watched the fire. How his eyes closed, accentuating thick eyelashes, when he smiled grandly every time someone successfully jumped cleanly over the fire, exuding excitement. How he licked his lips unconsciously, primly.  
  
And Viktor tried not to look, to mind himself when he didn’t even know who Yuuri was. When he couldn’t place Yuuri’s face among the members of his own community.

_Surely he would have remembered him otherwise?_  
  
But Yuuri’s handsome features did not stop at his bright smile.  
  
As with many others, Yuuri wore a white tunic, embroidered elaborately along its edges and in pristine condition. Aside from where it had met the river water before, the fabric still damp and clinging to his skin up to his thighs. The tunic was hemmed before reaching his knees, leaving pale calves exposed. It was fitted to him closely and cut off above his elbows; for someone so small compared to Viktor, he was undeniably strong.  
  
It was difficult to pry his eyes away from the thin tunic, exposed skin, slim and toned body.  
  
But he had to.  
  
Because Yuuri was looking expectantly at him now, waiting for an explanation to the fire jumping.  
  
Viktor offered him a smile, hoping that would make up for his staring.  
  
“Couples typically jump over the fire together while holding hands. If they can clear the fire and are still holding hands, they’re destined to be together. Others try it alone to prove their bravery,” Viktor explained.  
  
“Do you think it’s that difficult to do?” Yuuri shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the bonfire.  
  
“Maybe. That last guy seemed to make it over alright. Maybe a running start helps.”  
  
“Yeah, I suppose so.”  
  
“Wanna try?”  
  
“I mean, if you don’t mind. We can go separately if you want. Either way. I just… don’t want to intrude.” A blush blossomed across Yuuri’s cheeks.  
  
Viktor was certain he would never recover from that pretty sight.  
  
“No! Not at all. We’ll jump together. You caught my wreath; I want you to spend the night with me.”  
  
He meant it, every word.  
  
Because Yuuri was captivating, a mystery, unbelievably beautiful yet someone Viktor felt at ease with. Felt himself with more than with the other villagers, always shifting between adoration and troubled with him, always seeking something from him in one way or another.

Yuuri asked for nothing, took nothing, except for what Viktor was willing to give.  
  
“Only if you want to, of course,” Viktor hastened to add.  
  
Yuuri nodded silently.  
  
They crossed over to where others started their jumps and stepped back a few paces. Viktor tightened his grip on Yuuri’s hand, never having let it go from earlier. Yuuri responded in kind.  
  
Then they were both arching their feet, leaning slightly forward, and counting down. They lurched forward in time with each other, raced forward with matching pace, entered the jump together.  
  
They cleared the fire, forced a few steps beyond their landing point from the momentum.  
  
Their hands were still tightly clasped.  
  
Viktor looked down and ran his thumb along the back of Yuuri’s hand. When he lifted his gaze once more Yuuri was smiling widely, eyes alight with energy.  
  
Viktor couldn’t help but laugh with the thrill and joy of the whole affair. A second later Yuuri joined in, bending over slightly so that his head almost rested against Viktor’s arm.  
  
_And wasn’t Yuuri’s laugh so intoxicating!  
_  
He almost choked down his own laughter so that he could hear Yuuri’s clearly, a quieted sound that filled the night air from its elegance alone. Simply hearing the joyful sound beside him could never be enough.  
  
When his laughter had subsided a bit, Yuuri glanced up at Viktor, now stopping to see him more clearly. His eyes trailed from Viktor’s smile down to his neck, his shoulders, before stilling with some realization. With his free hand he tugged one of Viktor’s sleeves from where it had fallen to his upper arm back to his shoulder.  
  
Only for it to fall again.  
  
Laughter bubbling up in him again, Yuuri stepped in front of Viktor and tried pinning the sleeve to his shoulder for a long moment, his fingers brushing Viktor’s skin in the process. It sent a shiver through Viktor though Yuuri seemed oblivious to this.  
  
Yuuri let go of the sleeve experimentally.  
  
It fell once again.  
  
Viktor broke into laughter at the determined failure, Yuuri accompanying him. His sleeve was allowed to remain where it was for now.  
  
“So, now what?” Yuuri repeated when their laughter had subsided.  
  
“I’m pretty sure you know what happens next, Yuuri.” Viktor licked his lips, enjoying the feeling of saying his name, of knowing it. “Or else you wouldn’t be here. And you wouldn’t have grabbed _my_ wreath.”  
  
Viktor had edged forward as he said this, cupping Yuuri’s chin with his free hand and swiping his thumb along Yuuri’s bottom lip. His head was bowed, almost touching Yuuri’s forehead, and his eyelids were half-closed. Every fiber of his being reached out for Yuuri, every thought and unplanned movement.  
  
Under him Yuuri froze, his eyes widening and red now entirely staining his face. His lips parted partially at Viktor’s touch, almost expectant of something more.  
  
“That’s-” Yuuri swallowed. For a brief moment Viktor feared he had gone too far and started to retract his intimate position, but then Yuuri was speaking again. His expression hardened just enough to be noticeable, for Viktor to realize that he had a plan. “That’s a possibility.”  
  
A pause. Yuuri pulled away, gaining a small smirk.  
  
“But first you have to catch me.”  
  
Before even finishing the sentence, Yuuri took off toward a nearby wooded area, reaching up to make sure Viktor’s flower crown stayed in place every few moments.  
  
Viktor blinked. Processed the words. Processed Yuuri’s sudden shift to confidence after his earlier shyness. Processed the surprises and contrasts he had found throughout Yuuri’s words and actions so far.

Then he ran, trying his best to follow after such a delayed start. He might have been lost completely if Yuuri had not waited for a moment at the border of the forest. It was only when he was a few feet away that Yuuri took off again, diving in between the trees and deftly avoiding their snagging roots. Viktor followed the path Yuuri made, frantically, meeting with a low-hanging branch or tripping over some unseen plant more than once. His uncaring sprint in contrast to Yuuri’s more careful movements was the only thing that gave him an edge in the race.

Viktor caught up just as the trees made way for a little glade, opening onto some wildflowers and patches of grass as tree roots continued to slice the ground in every direction.

“We’ll call this a tie,” Viktor proclaimed breathlessly.

With one final push forward he wound an arm around Yuuri’s waist, tugging him back within reach. His other arm copied the movement to lock his hands against Yuuri’s stomach before lifting him up off the ground and pivoting in a circle.

It was a fairly effective move to get Yuuri to stop running.

Setting him back down and loosening his grip slightly, Viktor grinned triumphantly as Yuuri twisted around in his arms to face him. Yuuri’s eyes were wide and laughter escaped his lips between deep breaths. Both met each other with smiles and wordless excitement, the race quickly forgotten as a result.

Yuuri’s smile would fade eventually; Viktor knew this. The thrill would lose its effect as they regained their breath and calmed their heartbeats.

But he couldn’t lose that smile now, not just yet.

Arms still keeping Yuuri in place, he shifted his hands to splay across Yuuri’s waist, leading him into a dance purely consisting of spins and gradually pushing them further into the clearing. Yuuri’s hands found his shoulders, one hand pressed against the skin left bare by his fallen sleeve, clinging to him tightly as he tried to find his balance and pace. Viktor glanced down from time to time, making sure neither stumbled from what he could tell in the muffled silver light, willing Yuuri’s eyes to remain on him with a shift of hand to his chin.

The steps took their own uneven song, neither heeding the pacing or moves when the mindless spins and occasional lift by Viktor sustained enough energy and amusement for them.

It went smoothly for a while, both finding themselves in sync eventually and Yuuri’s eyes on Viktor when he wasn’t laughing, until Viktor failed to watch the ground beneath them.

And stumbled.

And it wasn’t enough to make him fall; Viktor could have easily caught himself.

If he had tried.

Instead of steadying his balance and moving on with their dance, he used it as an excuse to lay back against the ground.

And pulled Yuuri with him.

It was partially out of a burning need to regain his breath, but mostly as a tactical move: he had been able to pull Yuuri on top of him, head against his shoulder.

After a few more deep breaths, involuntary laughter, Yuuri propped himself up slightly and smirked once more at Viktor.

“So that’s what couples do in the woods? They make each other fall? This may not be my favorite celebration then.”

“I didn’t mean to- We can keep-”

“I’m kidding!” Yuuri rushed, catching Viktor’s widened eyes. His face reddened once more and the trembling seeped back into his voice.

“Good,” Viktor recovered quickly, “though we might have to incorporate falling into this celebration after all. If it means I get to see you laugh and blush more.”

_What answer could he ever hope to get? The continued blush was more than enough._

“I’m curious, though-”

He had to say something, because the question had been weighing him down since Yuuri first caught his wreath. Had only intensified when Yuuri had admitted to suspecting that the blue flowers were wrought specifically by Viktor’s hand.

If Yuuri had caught his wreath, knowing full well that it was his, then he had chosen Viktor specifically. There could be no mistake in that. It was clean cut, an obvious marked interest in Viktor by Yuuri. Why else make a move with such fateful connotations? Why else choose Viktor’s wreath if there was nothing more behind it, if there was no clear intent?

It was a feeling of elation, for him to realize this. He could swear there was no stronger emotion, no more consuming thought, than realizing exciting, surprising Yuuri had picked up his wreath with a purpose. There was still shock, disbelief, questioning at why Yuuri would hint that he would stand beside Viktor, or at least try it.

But above all: elation.

So he had to ask the question that had been on the tip of his tongue all evening. He had to revel in this fact completely, to hear Yuuri say it, to make the most of the night while Yuuri was still in his arms. To ask before the night had ended and whatever this was had the chance to end.

“Why did you choose my wreath specifically?”

It had the exact opposite effect from what Viktor had wanted.

He had wanted a confession, a blunt admission of Yuuri’s interest in him. They had gotten this far, why deny it now? He wanted to hear Yuuri’s acknowledgement, to ground him before he could build up false hope.

Instead, Yuuri scrambled back. With a jolt he sat up, inched away from Viktor, until there was no contact.

Only distance.

Yuuri bowed his head, taking a moment before responding.

“I’m sorry if you wanted someone else to grab it, Viktor Yakovlev. You could’ve told me if you wanted to spend tonight with someone else. I would have understood.”

“What? No, no, I didn’t mean it like that. I wasn’t expecting _anyone_ to catch it. You were a pleasant surprise, you know that?” Viktor sat up with him, turning to Yuuri. He hesitated for a second before slipping his hand into one of Yuuri’s, trying to focus the attention back on himself. “And _Yuuri_ , can’t you call me _Vitya_? Just for tonight?”

“I- Um-”

“Good.”

Viktor had already pushed the previous dialogue out of his mind by the time Yuuri wrapped his own fingers against Viktor’s hand, not wanting to linger on such doubt.

_Surely by now Yuuri must get the hint, understand the direction Viktor was more than willing to take the night - his life - in._

He reached forward for Yuuri’s other hand and was met halfway. Leaned forward and was met in kind.

He couldn’t place it, but there was a refreshed confidence in Yuuri’s movements, akin to the ones at the bonfire. As if any doubt had been dissipated. As if Viktor’s reaffirmation had soothed him at last, his just needing the confirmation repeated a few times to make sure.

Inspired by the shift in Yuuri’s confidence, Viktor resumed his previous movements as well, placing a hand to Yuuri’s chin and being met with Yuuri leaning his forehead against Viktor’s own.

Yuuri licked his lips, undoubtedly a subconscious movement, but one that caught Viktor’s undivided attention.

There was no deciding on whether or not he wanted Yuuri to hear how loud his heart was beating at this point.

Taking the atmosphere between them as an encouragement, Viktor made the next move before Yuuri had the chance: tilting his head slightly, he met Yuuri’s lips with a gentle - albeit drawn-out - kiss. It was enough for him when Yuuri responded in turn after a beat, his reaction delayed.

_How could he complain when his kiss was responded to at all, even if late?_

“So, you keep surprising me. Have I surprised you yet?”

Yuuri broke away involuntarily, laughing lightly. “Isn’t your even _being_ here supposed to be surprising? I heard someone say that.”

He only rethought his words when he caught the crestfallen look on Viktor’s face.

“You’ve been surprising me all night. A pleasant surprise, like you said earlier.”

Another surge of excitement; Viktor threw his arms around Yuuri and kept his hands locked there. It was forceful enough to knock Yuuri closer to him, nearly into his lap.

_How could it be possible for him to stay away?_

Already having taken the lead, Viktor tilted his head once more to catch Yuuri in a kiss, though this time he was answered quicker, easier. His hands drifted along Yuuri’s back, between his shoulder blades, and grasped at his shoulders, fingers sliding underneath his tunic. Yuuri stopped him immediately, though unintentionally, as he shifted to straddle Viktor’s lap. He took care not to break their kiss during the transition, one hand cradling Viktor’s head close to his while balancing himself with the other. Reacting to the careful touches, Viktor sat up straighter to deepen their kiss and swipe his tongue along Yuuri’s bottom lip.

Once Yuuri had settled Viktor tried again to initiate contact, though this time he rested his hands against Yuuri’s knees lightly before venturing further up his thighs and stopping short of the hem of his tunic, now gathered higher up and closer to his waist. He let his hands linger there, resting against Yuuri’s thighs, having been distracted by Yuuri parting his lips at Viktor’s earlier request.

Taking the offer, he ran his tongue along Yuuri’s lip once more, then along his teeth swiftly, before meeting Yuuri’s tongue confidently. His hold on Yuuri’s thighs tightened in response to Yuuri’s tangling his fingers in Viktor’s hair and soft, cut-off moan.

And if he’s being honest? The entire world was muddled, faded, so dim when Yuuri was so intoxicating. His thoughts had fallen incoherent, even as his mind produced a senseless cacophony he’d never known before. There were no names for the emotions that left him even more breathless than the kiss, the prior elation and anticipation and pure attraction and passion.

It’s a passion he hadn’t known anything akin to in so long. He loved serving his community, he loved helping its members, he loved leading every festivity and being present at every marriage and watching the lives of others unfold under his (and previously Yakov’s) guidance. But what had this been to him in recent years except a method of distancing himself from others in some way or other? Of standing on a pedestal not meant for just one? Being the best leader he could be was a passion when he was younger, and he prided himself on how much he had learned and accomplished, but it had lessened his humanity to others in the process. It put him in a category that he had not granted anyone else access to, too unsure of how to share such a busy life.

But how long can you carry a community on your own and return home alone? To have no relief at the end of the day?

On some level he had grown weary, a fact he was only vaguely aware of since Yakov’s lecture.

And now there was Yuuri. Memories of smiles and laughter and warm skin pressed against his own. There was a night when every stress of his had been dissolved, forgotten, in the pleasure of the present.

Every touch sent a shock through him, left his skin tingling. He almost begged Yuuri to keep twisting his fingers through Viktor’s hair, to knot the silver locks that fell to his waist. Came so close to losing his composure when Yuuri moved his free hand to Viktor’s thigh, transferring all of his weight to Viktor.

He didn’t mind one bit.

After exploring Yuuri’s mouth, he pulled away with one final nip on Yuuri’s bottom lip, almost regretfully.

Viktor lifted his head to meet Yuuri’s eyes and held the hem of Yuuri’s tunic, a question he couldn’t form in words so quickly.

“Please,” Yuuri breathed, withdrawing his hands from Viktor for the ease.

It was almost an after thought to remove the wreath still adorning Yuuri’s brow and set it to the side.

Then he was sliding his fingers under Yuuri’s tunic, grateful as he lifted himself slightly on his knees so that Viktor could pull it off in one fluid movement. Without explanation he laid the cloth out as smoothly as he could beside them.

_How he wished he could provide more than this!_

Viktor gripped Yuuri’s sides and turned him over gently, making sure the cloth separated Yuuri from the ground as well as he could. He held Yuuri there, remotely processing the cry of surprise, and shifted so that he was straddling Yuuri’s thighs. Roughly he tugged off his own tunic after removing his belt, bunched the fabric up, and lifted Yuuri slightly so that he could place it beneath his lower back.

Leaning down, Viktor met Yuuri’s lips again with another deep kiss, drawing this one out for as long as he could before Yuuri broke it for air. Taking it as his cue to move on anyway, Viktor gave another final nip at Yuuri’s bottom lip before pressing a string of kisses along his jaw, down his neck, along his collarbone, pausing every so often to place a kiss against Yuuri’s lips. Yuuri’s hand moved back to Viktor’s head, tangling in his hair; Viktor regarded it as a reward.

His hands ran before him, tracing every part of Yuuri’s torso until he hit his happy trail and swept his hands across Yuuri’s hips and further below teasingly. He came close to brushing against Yuuri’s cock before drifting up again to rub at his nipples. A disappointed noise escaped Yuuri, though his back arched at the touch.

He returned to Yuuri’s collarbone, giving soft kisses before exchanging them for small bites and sucking at his skin, his hands readjusting to grasp Yuuri’s lovehandles in the meantime. With his position stable Viktor dared to rock his hips against Yuuri’s, who elicited a moan that made them both shiver. Too shaken by Yuuri’s moan to continue along his collarbone, he leaned forward to initiate a new kiss and freed one of his hands to cup Yuuri’s face. As he was already trembling with his own pleasure Viktor rocked his hips again involuntarily, this time relishing in being able to see Yuuri’s desperate expression.

And he was eager to press forward, to nip and suck at Yuuri’s skin again until it was stained. He began to withdraw from the kiss, to replace his hand to its previous position, when Yuuri caught his wrist. Demanded attention.

“I’ve… I’ve never done this before. I don’t know-”

“Neither have I. Guess we’ll just have to figure it out together.”

Both of their breathing came heavily, clinging to the previous sensations, but Viktor managed to give Yuuri a reassuring smile.

Because his words were true; when had he ever had time to let himself go? Responsibility had been at the forefront for so long; life and love were an afterthought, something to be sought when his job was finished.

And all of this?

Being friends with blunt Christophe didn’t seem like too much of a bad thing right then.

“ _Please_.” It came out as a whine, especially as Yuuri bucked his hips forward.

_There was no mistaking this._

Through muddled thoughts Viktor remembered something else important. He reached for his belt and produced a small container of imported olive oil - courtesy of Christophe, of course. He had insisted on Viktor taking it with him for Kupala Night, predicting that someone would catch Viktor’s wreath.

He probably wouldn’t be admitting this accuracy to Christophe.

With still shaky hands he smeared his fingers with the oil as thickly as he could before shifting to his knees. His other hand hiked Yuuri’s legs up then reached to grab his lovehandle once more - some part of him noted Yuuri’s flexibility with delight.

It was experimental for him, slipping a finger slowly inside Yuuri, all the while his eyes set on Yuuri’s face and trying to catch any sound. He was not left unanswered: he noticed Yuuri’s hands claw into the fabric below him, how his head tilted back slightly, the barely audible moan, the restrained repeated bucking of his hips as Viktor went further. He added a second finger, with equal success.

Not daring anymore, he pushed further into Yuuri before retracting a bit. Repeat, more intense. More intense. He adjusted his fingers from time to time, trying to get this _right_ , waiting until he was sure everything would be comfortable. Yuuri’s whimpers and involuntary squirming were encouragement enough, the only things he perceived.

Another shift of his fingers and - _that cry_.

Viktor was certain the cry that escaped Yuuri could push him over the edge alone.

He couldn’t lose this anymore than he could lose Yuuri’s laughter; he eased his fingers from Yuuri, trying not to notice the shaken whimper that Yuuri gave as he hurried to coat his cock with the oil. He hiked Yuuri’s legs up once more to rest against his back as he pushed forward gently, kissing along Yuuri’s inner thighs while still in reach.

And it was messy.

It started out of pace, both moving to their own beat until Viktor added more guidance. His hands gripped Yuuri’s lovehandles roughly, nails digging into the flesh.

And it was slow.

It took a while for Viktor to learn the movements, to figure out how to hit the sweet spot he had managed to find earlier. He paused more often than Yuuri might have preferred, too overwhelmed with Yuuri’s moans and touch to notice his own pacing at times or hear his own cries in pleasure.

But it was memorable.

He couldn’t imagine ever forgetting the way Yuuri called out “Vitya”. Couldn’t fathom the marks now scattered across his back from Yuuri’s nails fading. It was too real, too present, too intense for him to comprehend a future.

And when both had been pushed beyond the edge, he had to force himself to finish this properly before laying beside Yuuri.

With regret he removed his tunic from beneath Yuuri, now damp from catching most of his cum. Folding the fabric over, he tried to dry the cum that was still present on Yuuri’s stomach from Yuuri’s own ecstasy before casting the tunic aside. It had been the most he could do.

Satisfied, Viktor laid back next to Yuuri and pulled him back onto his chest. He gladly let Yuuri snuggle closer to him, head nestled under his chin. In return he wrapped his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders and used his free hand to slip into Yuuri’s own.

They stayed like that for a long moment, their breathing gradually growing shallow and heartbeats slowing; this time, Viktor was happy to let this happen. The night wore on until all the stars were overhead; Viktor still felt like this would last all eternity.

“Thank you for catching my wreath,” Viktor said quietly, without much thought.

Yuuri only nodded.

Viktor could swear he had gotten the best night of sleep that he ever had. Maybe it was from weariness, or from such a blissful day, but he was content nevertheless.

_And why shouldn’t he be? It wasn’t everyday he became the leader of his village and spent the night with a man beyond words, beyond beauty._

Viktor could also swear that that made the next morning sting even more; Yuuri was gone and with him his tunic and Viktor’s wreath.

So, this really was only meant to live in the present.

His future might be just as barren as it was before.

Somehow it devastated him more now.

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri couldn’t explain why he kept Viktor’s wreath, wearing it once more after dressing in the early morning.

Yuuri also couldn’t fully explain why he left at all when last night had been so gratifying, when he had been silently invited to sleep with Viktor that night.

Abandonment and theft after Viktor had been so kind and adoring toward him instilled a guilt in him that he had never known before, though he stood by his actions; it was for the best, for Viktor’s sake. And he did have one solace: Yuuri had noticed a brilliant red and orange flower growing nearby after Viktor had fallen asleep and plucked it, stringing it in Viktor’s tangled hair before leaving.

_That repaid the stolen wreath somewhat, right?_

Phichit had dragged him to Kupala Night celebrations in their own village and every year nothing happened, he would go home pointedly early, but now…

He almost dreaded returning home as he walked onward, constantly tugging his tunic down back over his thighs. For someone who never stayed out late, didn’t have many close friends beyond Phichit, he was bound to get a few questioning looks - if not the questions themselves - when he came home.

Maybe it was unlike him.

Maybe it would be a surprise.

“I knew it!” Phichit exclaimed proudly when he made it back home late in the morning. Phichit sat next to the threshold of the Katsuki’s house, obviously having decided to wait there when he realized Yuuri was unexpectedly absent.

Yuuri only threw him a tired look, hoping he would take the hint.

No such luck.

“I knew if I just got you out more you’d find someone. That’s quite a _someone_ you found, Yuuri.” Phichit glanced up at the wreath Yuuri still wore, smirking.

Whether he told him or not, Phichit was almost always privy to Yuuri’s secrets and fears. To his self-consciousness and fixations. It was difficult for him not to be when he was always at Yuuri’s side, even when he left the village as he was prone to do as the village leader’s son.

His trips to other villages had begun when he was younger, once he was old enough to understand the trades and relations his father held stable. By that point he had seen most of the district, though the village he had just returned from was closest geographically and in relation ties. He didn’t return to the same area twice very often, but he had attended a couple of holidays that Yakov and his son had led over the years, always clinging to either his father or Mari and never finding it within himself to meet _Viktor Yakovlev_.

Compared to how open he could be when attending meetings and holidays at other villages, it was a stark contrast, even for Yuuri’s naturally private personality.

And Phichit had figured it out quickly.

Phichit had offered to accompany him to the neighboring celebration of Kupala Night a few years before, though Yuuri had been consistently denying him.

_How could he go there just for Viktor Yakovlev, when he would surely be ignored? To attend such an intimate celebration just for the district’s most powerful and popular heir? To make a pass at the ethereal man, always clad in light blue and Nordic brooches and practically known for his charm? He would be laughed at._

_He was just Yuuri._

It had taken extraordinary circumstances for Yuuri to decide to attend a different Kupala Night celebration: someone of his own village had finally asked him why he attended every year just to sit by the bonfire and string flower crowns alone. He would have given up on the celebration then and there entirely from embarrassment if Phichit had not suggested they try another village this year to mask their identity, to which Yuuri reluctantly agreed.

Phichit was responsible for his attending a different celebration. And for wearing the short tunic his mother had made him for his first Kupala Night and that he had avoided ever since. And for wading into the river, comforted only with the promise that Yuuri could leave if he wanted once Phichit had caught someone’s wreath.

And really, he only stayed after that to see if Viktor Yakovlev would actually supply a wreath for those eager to catch it.

_Which must be everyone_ , by Yuuri’s reasoning.

Really, it was only from curiosity.

“I must say, though. I admire your dedication to Viktor Yakovlev. It’s been years and yet here you are wearing his flowers. So when are you going to meet him again?”

Yuuri couldn’t hide the blush that came from this.

_It had been years, hadn’t it?_

Years since he was first enamored by one of Viktor’s enlightening speeches to those gathered for the various holidays. Since he had noticed Viktor’s pattern of wearing blue flowers in his hair. Since he had started hanging onto every bit of news of Viktor’s recent accomplishments and speeches and relaying every word to Phichit a few times over.

It had been years since Yuuri had first started following Viktor, aspiring to be a leader like him someday. Someone capable of both solving all the little problems that arose in daily life and rallying his community.

And now Viktor’s blue flowers rested on his brow and his bites were starting to blossom across his collarbone in light bruises.

There was no comprehending this. Not immediately.

“Oh, I, um-” Yuuri averted his eyes. “We won’t. I left before he woke up.”

“ _Yuuri_!” Phichit buried his face in his hands before looking back up brightly. “Okay, we can still fix this. Just say that you forgot to do something here and had to leave. We’ll go back and give him some excuse.”

“No.”

“But, hear me out-”

“I said no.”

“ _But Yuuri_. The man spends the entire night with you and gave you one hell of a night if the state of your hair indicates anything - and after I spent all that time making those braids stay! - and you go and leave the poor guy before he even wakes up? _And_ took his wreath? _Yuuri_.” Phichit drew his name out to a whine.

“Well, he gave it to me anyway.” Yuuri glanced at Phichit quickly then back down. “It was for the best that I left. He should be spending his life with someone who can strengthen his village with him. Not me. It saves us both the trouble of thinking of it as anything more.”

Phichit groaned dramatically. “Yuuri, I think it’s time I explained Kupala Night and the wreaths to you again. You’ve obviously gotten confused somewhere along the way. Was it the courting part or the prediction of marriage part that I lost you on? Because I think you just secured both whether you know it or not.”

Disassembling the wreath was delicate work but Yuuri spent the rest of the day at it regardless. Once the flowers had been separated he bound them together and hung them from the ceiling, hoping that they could still be preserved. At least for a little while longer.

He slipped back into his normal routine as easily as he could, trying not to think about Kupala Night, or to feel disappointment when Viktor’s marks on his skin had disappeared completely.

For a while it was just the monotonous routine. The bare minimum he needed to do each day. There was little motivation for much else, especially when he noticed how faded Viktor’s flowers had become, even though he knew that would happen.

But the bare minimum was unsatisfying. He had spent years trying to improve his community in a million little ways. His life had always been so busy because of it; it was too bare without these minor chores. Maybe he couldn’t give the sweeping and grandiose speeches that Viktor turned out every single holiday, or accomplish great things that caught on throughout the whole district, but Yuuri could do this. He could settle disputes with some clarity and hear his community’s voices on varying issues with a sympathetic ear, and improve his home in all the small ways. No one could ever accuse Yuuri of being irresponsible when he was not in such an addicting slump.

He climbed out of his darkened mood over the following months. He turned his mind to the harvests and helping lead that year’s second day of commemoration of the dead and organizing the winter holiday Koliada. He spent it vigorously welcoming the spring and found his mood rising naturally with the resurgence of life.

The memory of Viktor didn’t diminish; Yuuri was certain it would always stay sharp in his mind. But it softened with time. The exchanging shock of it ever happening and guilt of leaving was dulled. His only failing was in trying to regret that night and never succeeding; the memory was regarded oddly fondly in his mind even though he knew Viktor would never reciprocate. He couldn’t erase his admiration of Viktor, but perhaps that one night was enough.

It was certainly more than he had ever dared dream.

He _still_ had a difficult time explaining his confidence that night, but as the seasons wore on he came to be grateful of it.

That had been and always would be his only chance at getting close to Viktor and he had taken it. For all of his other shortcomings, at least he had this.

Because he was convinced that if Viktor had really wanted to continue their relationship, he would have knocked at Yuuri’s door by now. He might not have stood at the forefront, but he had been indirectly introduced to Yakov’s family in previous visits. If not his face, then surely he would have recognized Yuuri’s name, right?

It was for this that Yuuri tried to regret that night, knowing he had wasted Viktor’s time, was a distraction when Viktor could have aimed for someone so much better to stand beside him as his village expanded and flourished with each passing year.

But Yuuri was selfish in cherishing that night for the same reasons. For one night, he had caught Viktor Yakovlev’s attention, his passion and kindness.

It was a moot point.

Yuuri accepted the memory shifting to fondness and tried to move on as summer’s busy schedule approached. Work for the harvests, honoring spirits for their granting favorable conditions that year, upcoming celebrations.

A few weeks before midsummer, Toshiya pulled him aside, looking decidedly calm for someone relaying news that preyed on Yuuri’s anxiety.

“Your mother and I are planning a pretty big midsummer festival after this year’s successes, so we’ll be staying here for that day. And we’ll need Mari here for it, too, can’t do it without her. But we received an invitation from Viktor Yakovlev to attend his first midsummer celebration as leader, so we’re depending on you to go in our place.”

Yuuri stilled.

“You should probably be prepared to give a speech or toast. Something nice and sweet. Some compliments on his first successful year and praise for this summer, the usual stuff. You’ll do fine, Yuuri; it’ll only be a few words and you’ve done so well helping out recently.”

And that was that. There was no questioning or argument.

He had given short speeches in front of his community before; that wasn’t the problem.

He had spoken directly to other leaders within the district, some far more powerful than him; that wasn’t the problem.

“This is perfect!” Phichit had declared once he heard the news.

“Perfect how? He’s probably going to hate me for last year now.”

“Oh _come on_ , it wasn’t that bad. I mean, you probably should’ve tried to talk to him afterward. Honestly, what do you think those old legends are for?”

“We’re _still_ talking about this?”

“But no matter! You give your speech for Viktor Yakovlev, make sure to compliment him, and he’ll be all over you again.”

“And you’re forgetting how awkward this is gonna be. If not for him, at least for _me_. How do you talk to someone after just…?”

“Running out on them? Breaking their heart?”

“What? Why would you suggest I-”

Phichit waved the question away. “Here’s what we’re gonna do: you’re gonna give that speech. Right, like I said? And then you’re gonna actually talk to him. You don’t have much choice anyway; my plan should work out well.”

Yuuri only groaned and distractedly accepted Phichit’s offer to braid his hair again for the upcoming festival.

It helped to just focus on planning his speech, to memorize exactly what he would say and how he would say it.

Staying up all night in wordless worry? Not so much.

Despite all the meetings and daily work around his village, the fact that Yuuri and Mari would be taking over the leadership roles someday had not completely threaded itself through his consciousness. He could barely grasp that he would be representing his family by himself this time, unaccompanied and completely responsible, let alone accept the rest.

It’s hard to imagine a different future when present life is static.

The thought was maddening enough on its own; a slowly entrenching realization that shook him into disbelief more often than not. Despite all of his father’s guidance, and all of Mari’s equal help, it was still a daunting thought. He knew not to make a fool of himself if he was going to garner respect and favorable deals in the future; but how could he focus on the big picture when his work had always been in the local details?

He could only accept it as another of his coming responsibilities. Treat it all as just a larger-scale version of what he was already so adept at. Pretend that the new faces and attention were no different than what he already knew.

This was a now or never situation; Yuuri felt it. He was old enough to go forward alone; Yuuri knew this. This would be his greatest chance to prove himself a worthy representative of his family, his community.

Perhaps Phichit had given him the best advice of all for this. He had applied it in his speeches before. He would apply it again for midsummer.

_Sometimes you just have to say “hello” and trust the rest will follow_.

Viktor was another matter.

Viktor was his being forced to face his consequences.

Yuuri had admonished Phichit over it before: they had only gone to a neighboring Kupala Night celebration because no one would recognize him. But there was no way Viktor wouldn’t remember him now, wouldn’t recognize him upon their eventual meeting again. Phichit, however, had not admitted an apology for his breaking that promise.

And now Yuuri would have to face this. So skilled at locking himself away from trouble but for someone in his position, how could he expect it not to catch up with him?

He would have to trust that relations between their two villages would remain strong; there was still a chance Viktor simply hadn’t remembered Yuuri, as Phichit’s logic often reminded him, so hopefully meeting again would not lead to recognition and souring relations. He would have to trust that some civility could be maintained after last Kupala Night; not that he expected any less of prim and proper Viktor.

He would have to trust that he would know what to say after “hello”.

 

* * *

 

 

Christophe had kept him informed on what others were saying about Kupala Night.

Viktor hadn’t asked him to, but when had that stopped Christophe before?

He supposed there should be some embarrassment there, some shame in being left before even waking up after Kupala Night. Viktor, darling forefront leader of the district, had been abandoned by someone he didn’t even know. There should be embarrassment, anger, _something_ to reflect this insult.

But really, he was more devastated and hopeful than anything else.

“Are you going to try to find a partner elsewhere, Vitya?”

“No.”

“So you’re really going to do _all this_ on your own?”

“No.”

“He left you. And it was only one night. It meant nothing. He’s probably moved on. And you have to, too.”

“He took my wreath with him.”

Viktor had only ever gotten sighs and exasperation from Yakov and Christophe. The first couple of days they humored him; maybe Yuuri was just busy, he would come back. The first few weeks they had sympathy; of course that night had meant something to Yuuri. But almost a year had passed and they were frustrated with worry; Yuuri wasn’t going to come back, not this late, he had moved on.

He could never explain it, but he couldn’t believe that that night was nothing. That he had been forgotten. It just wasn’t _Yuuri_ , who had been so exciting and bright and adoring.

Viktor couldn't admit to knowing  _everything_ of Kupala Night, but he knew about the wreaths. He had learned everything he could about them. Their prophecies while in the river and what it meant when the wreath was worn by the one who caught it when leaving the forest. Surely Yuuri had worn it if he took it.

_And he knew what that meant_.

He knew they were engaged now, by tradition, whether Yuuri would return or not. That was enough for him.

Yuuri having taken his wreath was one thing he could definitively rely on. Why keep something that _Viktor_ had made? That was undeniably fashioned by his hands? Why keep the object that had led to love and marriage before, the symbol of the future they could have together? He fixated on that detail, always cited it, trying to make others understand the hope that still burned for him.

And if they didn’t? He couldn’t care.

And if they spread rumor of the man he spent the night with in whispers? He may as well let them; perhaps word would eventually reach Yuuri as well.

There were some details that he kept to himself: Yuuri’s name and the flower he had left in Viktor’s hair. He had treated Yuuri’s name almost sacredly, something only to be repeated aloud in solitude when he could relive his memories.

And the flower…

Viktor was wise in keeping that a secret, stowed away and always out of sight from all others. Even his muddled, heartbroken mind could understand that.

He had plans for the following midsummer.

Life went on; it may as well have without him. He still took a leading role in festivals with fervor, still made grand speeches congratulating his community for their successful harvests so far and praising the spirits that made it possible, and conducted business with other neighboring villages.

There was no placing when exactly he had become the most vocal voice in the district. But by the following spring he had gained a respect surpassing what he had known before. His career had been steady, he could always fake optimism when needed, and he was adored by _so many_.

But he nearly missed all of this.

Yakov had mentioned it to him several times, approvingly. It took a few times for it to reach him, though.

And even then, it was because of the growing plan in his head.

Let others talk of his future and brief affair. Let his loved ones grow weary over his insistence of finding Yuuri again, of trying to see whether they _could_ have more. They would quiet soon enough.

Because if Yuuri wasn’t going to return on his own, perhaps he could inadvertently beckon him back. He was certainly affluent enough.

Old friends had been invited, Georgi and Mila as always, along with a slew of others stranger to him. He sent messages to every village in the district that he held so firmly, begging for attendants.

_It would be rude to decline. This is his first year anniversary as leader. He’s done so well. His ostentatious midsummer celebration is perfectly understandable and will not fall flat._

The midsummer traditions were completed first, Viktor’s own self-congratulatory celebration not kicking off until later on. Of course, ample time would be left for Kupala Night. He provided a grand feast for all attending, even those of no affluent standing, personally funding the abundance of food and drink.

Yakov toasted to him first, gruffly proud of Viktor’s accomplishments. Then Mila, and Georgi, and a few other leaders he knew distantly.

Viktor could pull off grace and stateliness well. He could keep a stiff posture and listen attentively to the most droning speeches. His tunic of white and pink completed the picture of the perfect leader, heavily embroidered with traditional and prophetic patterns and sewn only by the very best he could find. A golden lunula pendant gleamed against his chest. A blue wreath was already nestled on his head, his silver tresses falling loosely from beneath the flowers, and temple rings secured along the stems.

Others had stopped questioning his feminine jewelry long ago.

Another person stood and Viktor tilted his head back slightly, lightly touching his wreath so that it could not fall.

Yuuri’s flower was nestled amongst the other blossoms, a brilliant red against the paler petals. Just hidden enough for no one to guess the flower’s true identity.

His flower crown could not fall.

“Hello.”

Viktor stilled.

That voice was unmistakable.

“I’m here on behalf of Hasetsu and in place of my father…”

Viktor turned to look fully at Yuuri, eyes wide and breath cutting short.

Yuuri stood some ways away from Viktor, enough to excuse him from not noticing Yuuri before, though now he stepped forward to be heard.

Viktor had never given much thought to multi-tasking, but he was practicing it intensely now. No word from Yuuri’s tongue was forgotten, no inch of him unnoticed.

_And was it weird that Viktor had missed him? Felt some odd rush of relief at seeing Yuuri, even when he was not smiling and laughing brightly as he had a year before?_

Yuuri had filled his life too suddenly and left too suddenly.

But here he stood again.

Viktor’s plan had actually worked.

He waited as Yuuri spoke of the harvests and peaceful times and congratulations for Viktor’s accomplishments, convinced that he could not move beyond leaning forward.

Yuuri was still just as pretty as his voice. Some part of Viktor yearned for the short white tunic from last year again, though now he was met with something better. Black hair had been swept back from his forehead with some locks braided and others loose. And strung through his hair carefully were faded blue blossoms; the well-preserved ones that had once made up Viktor’s wreath.

He still wore Viktor’s flowers.

The flowers he had let the tide carry with some doubt and led him to such a beautiful person, that had provided some hope to him.

Even in death they were unmistakably light blue, the same shades and kinds that Viktor always opted for.

“…we may not be as surprised as we once were, but Viktor Yakovlev’s constant accomplishments is astonishing and worthy of marking today…”

Yuuri spoke clearly, forcefully, in a way Viktor had never heard before.

Certainly not during Kupala Night.

And apparently not from before last year either. They had met in some vague past, perhaps not even directly. There was some pang of guilt in not realizing this before, of having not known the name of the heir to such a closely neighboring village.

But how could he dwell on that now?

The present - this speech, the flowers framing Yuuri’s face, the promise of a future - were all that mattered.

“He has surprised me, in both his efforts to unify our district and in personality. I would have rarely guessed such generosity from someone as affluent and prosperous. But he surprises us, influences us, inspires us to improve our own communities.”

Yuuri licked his lips during a brief pause. He gave Viktor a nervous glance but finally decided to keep his eyes focused there upon catching Viktor’s expression of astonishment and realization.

A shift in weight from one foot to another and eventually averting his eyes, now alight and searching as the pause drew out a beat longer than it should have.

But then.

With testing confidence he turned his attention back to Viktor. As though he had realized something himself, had drawn a final conclusion.

“He’s been astonishing us all for years. But now, I will ask… Viktor Yakovlev, have I managed to surprise you again?”

He didn’t care if Yuuri was finished yet or not. Whether the rest of the attendees would understand the question or not.

Acting on instinct, Viktor shot out of his chair and rushed to Yuuri.

And did something he had been yearning to do again for months.

Viktor pulled Yuuri into his arms, hands clasped behind his back, and met his lips.

On some level Yuuri must have been anticipating this, because he responded quickly. Deepened the kiss. Threw his arms around Viktor’s shoulders.

Even when it had ended, they did not separate, foreheads nearly pressed against each other. A moment of silence passed comfortably, Viktor relishing in their reunion too much to speak.

And when he was ready to speak again, to break the silence, his voice was still quiet. Only meant for Yuuri.

“You’re him. You’re my Yuuri.”

“Y-yes, Viktor Yak-”

Yuuri cut short before finishing the patronym, casting his mind back to the previous summer. He swallowed thickly, reluctant in his next words. Almost fearful of what he wanted to say. But he had to say them. Because he had trouble referring to Viktor as anything else in his mind, and he needed Viktor to know, to understand how he felt despite everything. Despite all he had avoided.

A purpose stood behind his voice, confidence dripping into his tone with his resolve.

“Yes, Vitya.”

There was no hesitation in Viktor’s reaction, no thought or self-consciousness. Grinning brightly at hearing Yuuri address him so, he swept Yuuri up into a spin as he had done a year before. Held him close in ecstasy as he had done a year before.

“You remember me!” accompanied the spin.

There was no disguising his relieved joy at Yuuri’s acceptance of him.

_But how could he ever_ not _believe that Yuuri would not accept him?_

When Viktor had woken alone there was only pain. And when he noticed the blue flowers were missing there was a growing hope. And when he found the flower left for him by Yuuri there was no doubt in his future: Yuuri would come back to him someday.

The flower that was now tied into Viktor’s flower crown had never been dried or decayed with time, but kept its liveliness and brilliance just as he had expected. It is not natural for a flower to glow such a fiery red, and this was no ordinary flower. There was no misidentifying the fern flower, a magical flower that granted prosperity and fortune and had served Viktor well even though he did not need it for these things.

The flower that had remained with Viktor since Yuuri gifted it to him also granted love; and how could his attraction toward everything about Yuuri be anything but love?

Viktor was a spontaneous person, trusting fate to navigate much of his personal life for him. And in return he had gotten to meet Yuuri, to exchange symbols of their love with him. It had always been enough for him to remain steadfast in waiting for Yuuri.

Only Yuuri.

And if it meant idling away a year in despair and tricking fate into their meeting soon again to have Yuuri by his side again, then so be it.

Keeping one arm slung over Yuuri’s shoulder, Viktor quickly ripped his lunula from his neck and cast it aside. An object worn solely before marriage was obsolete to him with Yuuri present, certain in their future enough now to leave behind a life of solitude.

There would be differences to settle, an exchange of power to handle, a lifetime’s worth of loneliness to reconcile for both of them.

But for now, for the present, for a future Viktor knew they would build soon enough, he only had one query.

“Tonight, will you meet by the river?”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find fanart of Kupala Night [HERE](https://yayyoi.tumblr.com/post/159020943157/ok-for-an-entire-days-worth-of-drawing-im-quite) by the lovely [yayyoi](https://yayyoi.tumblr.com/)! <3  
> And [HERE](https://riki-cartblog.tumblr.com/post/160856858317/done-viktuuri-fanart-for-meet-me-by-the-river-by) by the amazing [Riki](https://riki-cartblog.tumblr.com/)! <3
> 
> _Information_ : Yes, Kupala Night was an actual thing in old Eastern Europe, youths getting lucky in the woods. It's actually one of my favorite traditions and there's a really nice comic by PannaN on it [here](http://www.ohjoysextoy.com/kupala-pannan/), which I recommend reading! The lunula pendant and temple rings (both of these have their own Wikipedia page, they're easy to look up in Google Images) were usually worn by females but I like the idea of Viktor continuing to show a feminine side so there we go. The lunula pendant specifically was worn until a girl was married, that's why Viktor casts it off. And if you're wondering why I emphasize "light blue" a lot, it's because that color symbolizes gay men in Russia :)
> 
> _Edit_ : I went back to clarify one part: traditionally, when the man left the forest wearing the girl's flower crown, it meant they were engaged to be married. So, Yuuri had basically said he was engaged to Viktor and hence Phichit's frustrations with him. Also hence why Viktor ripped off his lunula - they were engaged and Yuuri had come back.  
>    
> Anyway, hope you enjoy! This will officially kick off my AUs based off Slavic mythology; I just thought I'd do something fun for the first story. If you like the story feel free to leave kudos/comments or hmu at [niedolia](http://niedolia.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! I've decided to add 3 more chapters over time, thank you for all of your comments/kudos/etc.!
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
> \- Vasya


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